“I am consenting to speak to you on condition that my remarks are off the record,” Bianco said to Weiss. It was evening and they were in the dimly lit wardroom. Through the portal of the ex/rec room came the jeers of two crewmen competing at darts.
“What’s the point of talking if I can’t use what you say?” said Weiss.
“Do you know the meaning of lento?” asked Bianco.
“It’s a soup, right?”
Bianco slowly reared back his head and stared down the humped ridge of his Roman nose. Weiss felt the old man’s brown eyes penetrate to the base of his brain. He wiped the grin from his face.
“It means to take things slowly,” said Bianco. “In other words, I want you to have a comprehensive view of our work here before you file your report.”
“Agreed,” Weiss said easily. “Now how do these whale deaths connect with your work here?”
Bianco clasped his gnarled hands together and placed them on the table. Realizing that keeping them there required too much effort, he let them float before him like an inverted cradle.
“The main thrust of our project is to develop microbes genetically engineered to neutralize toxic wastes in our environment. The concept is called bioremediation.”
“I’ve heard of that. Scientists have been doing that for more than ten years, haven’t they?” Weiss asked.
“On a small scale, yes,” said Bianco. “Bacteria have been used to devour chlorine compounds that were polluting aquifers. But in those efforts, the scientists used the bacteria that already existed in the ground.”
“And Trikon’s trying to develop new kinds of bugs through genetic engineering, right?”
Bianco nodded slowly. “Ten years ago, your American EPA published a study that identified one hundred twenty-eight different toxic chemicals and compounds that were present in dangerous levels in the world’s oceans, lakes, and rivers. Ten years ago, Mr. Weiss. The situation has become much worse.”
Weiss started to speak, but Bianco silenced him with a sharp glance.
“Now I know what you are thinking,” said Bianco. “You are thinking that if there are one hundred twenty-eight chemicals, all we need do is pour the same number of microbes into the water and let them devour the chemicals to their hearts’ content.”
Weiss smiled wanly as if to say, Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking.
“The answer is not that simple,” said Bianco. “These toxic chemicals are not floating around in the water in discrete little bundles. Some ride the surface, others are buried in sludge, others blend into insidious solutions.”
“Are you getting to the whales?” said Weiss.
“Of course I am getting to the whales!” boomed Bianco.
Weiss flinched, completely surprised at the sudden power of Bianco’s voice. Even the dart players peered silently out of the ex/rec room.
“We have been working to develop one or two, maybe three, genetically engineered microbes with the capability of neutralizing all the major toxic wastes in the Earth’s waters. To give you an idea of the enormous complexity of the task, the most complicated microbe we have been able to develop neutralizes only seven.
“We knew we were working against the clock, but until the whale deaths occurred and were investigated, we did not realize how little time actually remains.”
“Do you really mean what you said at the meeting this afternoon?” Weiss asked. “We’ve only got ten years?”
“Perhaps less,” said Bianco. “The level of toxins in the ocean waters is killing off the plankton on which these whales subsist.”
“If that’s the case,” said Weiss, “why are so many marine biologists, big guns like Ted Adamski, saying that the cause of the whale deaths is a virus?”
“We have only recently satisfied ourselves that the deaths are from starvation and that the plankton supply has dipped below a level at which the normal whale population can sustain itself. We knew it would happen. But we did not anticipate it happening so quickly.”
“But Adamski still says otherwise,” said Weiss.
“Adamski privately believes the cause of death is starvation,” said Bianco. “He is maintaining his original public stance at our request.”
“Why?”
“To prevent wholesale panic,” said Bianco.
“Professor Bianco, I love the whales. I donate to Greenpeace every chance I get. Why the hell would the death of a few whales cause a panic?”
“You talked to Professor Karlis,” said Bianco.
“Karlis is a maverick,” said Weiss, too disturbed by the drift of the conversation to appreciate the irony of turning against one of his sources.
“But in this regard, he is entirely correct.”
Weiss tried to drum his fingers on the tabletop. They barely brushed the surface.
“Jesus H. Christ, you mean everything I’ve been saying is true?”
“Worse than that, Mr. Weiss. Phytoplankton not only manufacture oxygen. They also absorb carbon dioxide. For years, optimists in the great debate over global warming effects have looked to the plankton as our savior. The oceans might warm, yes, but then plankton would flourish and absorb more carbon dioxide, thereby preventing further warming. If the plankton die, the great leveling factor will be gone.”
“What does this mean to the man on the street?” asked Weiss.
“To the man on the street, I would say that without plankton Planet Earth is well on its way to becoming another Planet Venus. The man on the street will choke to death. All the men, women, and children of Earth will die.”
The Japanese tech watched impassively as Freddy Aviles traced a network of cables from Jasmine’s main computer terminal to the relay box in the center of the module’s ceiling. Freddy popped the cover with a screwdriver and inspected the innards of the box with a penlight.
“So then what happened?”
Lance Muncie, drifting beneath Freddy’s abbreviated rump with a toolbox in one hand and pages of computer-generated diagrams springing out of the other, glanced back at the tech.
“Does he have to stare like that?” Lance whispered.
“Jus’ doin’ his job, man,” said Freddy. “Like you an’ me. Oyamo told Commander Tighe that we couldn’t work in here alone,”
“Nobody trusts anybody here.”
“Nobody trusts anybody on Earth. Why should they be different here?” said Freddy. “So then what happened?”
Lance had hoped that the conversation would hop its tracks, but no such luck with Freddy. The man really was a computer whiz. He could talk, joke, sing, probably even dance if he had legs while working the reconfiguration project. He certainly didn’t need any help other than someone to prevent the specs from snaking away. And he certainly would not forget the topic of this conversation.
“We went to the observation blister,” said Lance. He waved away Freddy’s long, suggestive whistle. “It wasn’t what you think. We watched India pass beneath us and we talked about exercises and what the Mars Project was like.”
“Yeah.”
“We did, Freddy, and I told her about being part of the crew.”
“You din’ make a move on her?”
“Freddy.”
“You were alone in the observation blister with Carla Sue Gamble, the way she was diggin’ on you in the wardroom, and you din’ make a move on her?”
“I’m not like that, Freddy. I’m saving—”
Freddy turned away from the relay box. Lance’s cheeks were red; the muscles around his lips twitched. This time, Freddy’s whistle did not drip with innuendo. It was full of sudden understanding.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my God, I Shoulda figured it out long ago. You a virgin.”
“Freddy, shh.” Lance tilted his head toward the Japanese tech.
“He don’ understand what we sayin’, Lance. I can’t believe this. I mean, I can believe it because I know you, but I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.”
“Well, well, well,” said Freddy. “This puts a differen’ light on the subject.”
“I wanted to, Freddy. I was really really tempted. She had her hands on me. She wanted to put her mouth on me.”
“Not bad,” Freddy said in a stage whisper. “Then what?”
“I left.”
Freddy winced in embarrassment for his friend. “You get her pissed, no?”
“I guess so. I haven’t had the courage to look for her.”
“What you gonna do when you find her? Apologize?”
“Maybe,” said Lance. “Maybe explain to her what I think about these things.”
“And what do you think?”
Lance stuttered.
“You know, you full of shit, Lance. You talk about how you not like your folks. How you are space age and they are Stone Age. But here you are on a space station with a nice young lady hot for your bod, and you ain’t taking advantage.”
“Premarital sex is wrong no matter what the age,” said Lance.
“Tha’s a crock of shit,” said Freddy, “You ever read Thomas More? He said people should see each other naked before they got married. An’ he’s a saint!”
“He was a Catholic, Freddy.”
“Don’ hold that against him.”
“It’s still no argument to say that everyone does it. I have myself to think about. Becky, too.”
“Yeah,” said Freddy. “And while you up here livin’ like a monk, how do you know what she doin’ down there?”
Lance’s normally dark eyes flashed. His short hair bristled. His jaw clenched, making him resemble an avenging angel rather than a cute cherub.
“You take that back right now, Freddy!” Lance released the toolbox and specs and pounded the fist of one hand into the palm of the other.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
Aaron Weiss tumbled awkwardly through the entry hatch. The sound of his Minicam clanking against the floor echoed throughout the module. The Japanese tech hurried forward to intercept him. Weiss righted himself and inspected the camera for damage. The Japanese chattered shrilly and waved him away with the back of his hand.
“What? What?” said Weiss in response to the angry gestures. “I don’t understand you.”
“’Scuse me.” Freddy left his screwdriver and penlight with Lance and dove toward the reporter and the tech. The tech was growling now, like a swordsman in a samurai movie, and obviously gesturing for Weiss to leave. The reporter, feigning ignorance, was explaining that he just wanted a few pictures of the equipment.
“Do you understand what this man wants?” Weiss asked Freddy. “He’s not speaking English.”
“He wants you gone, man. How’s that for English?”
“Not very eloquent,” Weiss said, noticing the thick muscles beneath Freddy’s royal-blue flight suit. “But clear enough.”
Freddy nodded to the tech as if to say everything was under control. Then he escorted Weiss to the entry hatch.
“Hey, I know you,” said Weiss. “You’re Freddy Aviles. I was supposed to cover your launch. But then a bunch of whales died.”
“Out of here,” said Freddy, slapping the rim of the hatch for emphasis. “Now.”
With a sigh of resignation, Weiss cased himself through the hatch. Freddy watched him moving unsteadily down the connecting tunnel. Weiss stopped at The Bakery and looked at the hatch as if considering whether to enter.
“Not there either!” shouted Freddy.
“Sorry,” said Weiss, a guilty grin on his face. “Thought it was my hab module. This is a very confusing place.”
Freddy eyeballed Weiss until the reporter entered Hab 1. Then he returned to Lance and the relay box. Lance was still fuming.
“Sorry about what I said about Becky,” said Freddy. “She prob’ly isn’t doing anything like that.”
“Definitely isn’t,” said Lance.
“But even so, you could still go back Earthside an’ find her with another guy. Then what you gonna do, kick yourself in the ass for all the opportunities you let slide?”
Some of the hostility left Lance’s face. He bit his lip as he considered Freddy’s new tack. Stripped of the sexual issue, it made sense. Why did Becky sound so distant over the telephone? What type of person would he find when he returned?
“Take it from me, man. Don’ let opportunities slide by. Look at me. I can’ even kick myself in the ass anymore.”